


of sunday afternoons and vending machines

by orphan_account



Series: College AUs [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Chris is a stoner, College AU, M/M, Otabek is a bad influence, Phichit Chulanont is a Little Shit, They're both REAL HARDENED CRIMINALS tm, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Viktor steals a vending machine, Yurio is a sweet cinammon roll with anger issues, Yuuri Katsuki is a pure bean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 13:24:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10572201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov; a twenty-something art major in his senior year of college, smuggles a vending machine upstairs with the aid of his good friend Christophe Giacometti, arguably set up by the wonderful influence of hard drugs. Yuuri Katsuki is his roommate, and he is entirely uncertain of what to do when he finds it 'hidden' in the back part of their wardrobe.OR"You stole a vending machine?""Not 'a', Yuuri. The."





	

“You stole a vending machine?”

“Not ‘a’, Yuuri. _The_.”

Phichit rolls over, still wrapped in his blanket burrito on the bottom bunk and apparently entirely unfazed that there is now a _fully-functional soda vender_ in his college dormitory, mutters a hoarse; “Relatable.”

It’s Sunday morning. Today is supposed to be Yuuri’s break day - he’s got no studying left to do until tomorrow afternoon, and his next lecture is on Wednesday evening (just down near the parking lot, by the guy with the last name that sounds like a sneeze), so today has been labelled official sleep catch-up time. Even Sara and Mila, the two eccentric young women who are, rather unfortunately, roomed, like, seven metres from them (and who seem to surreptitiously cling to other-Yuri, the undergraduate who has, as of late, acquired a freaky female following) are completely out of it.

And yet somehow Yuuri is instead standing in his pyjamas from sixth grade; the ones with the Pikachu missing an ear emblazoned on the front; in his best friend’s dorm, staring at the red monstrosity that has found a home in their closet. The worst part about it is that Viktor looks so _damn_ proud of himself, and Chris- well, Chris is way too excited to be _not_ on weed at the moment. It’s still six o’ clock in the morning.

“Wait,” Yuuri rocks back onto his heels with a gluey blink, then proceeds to question whether or not it’s ethical to favour the company of a vending machine over his fellow students’. “What the _fuck_ is going on?”

“We stole the vending machine, Yuuri.” Okay, so Chris has definitely smoked something this morning - prescribed or otherwise. He slings an arm over Victor’s shoulder - who is has yet to stop grinning - and giggles like a godforsaken teenage girl, and Yuuri is entirely certain that he’s forming an ulcer as they speak.

“Yeah, no, I got that.” His knees are beginning to buckle from carrying his weight this early on in the day, and he’s beginning to regret ignoring the warning about listening to a sleep-deprived Victor that he got from Chris at the beginning of the year. “Why did you feel compelled to-“

“They were going to break it down, Yuuri!” Victor speaks for the first time since he called him in from across the hall; he mocks a wound to the heart and faints into Chris’ arms, and Yuuri decides that he’s too far gone to help anymore. Maybe he hit his head at some point. He kind of hopes so. It would explain a lot. “It’s where we got our first diet coke together!” Okay, first off, Yuuri doesn’t even drink fizzy stuff-

“It’s true,” Chris adds with a snort, and downs what’s left of the day-old Red Bull can on the windowsill in one fell swoop. It could have been impressive if he hadn't seen it happen before. More or less, he's kind of just gone numb to it. “She would have been all alone out there in the wilderness - left to fend for herself-“

“Her?” Viktor blinks, like it’s totally obvious, and straightens up.

“Yuuri,” He says, and waits for a hint of recognition - something - and when it doesn’t come, he nods towards the broken clothes rack again, which has slid down to the floorboards by now. “ _The machine_.”

“I’m going to bed.”

It’s a smart decision, really. It’s been a full year of being Victor’s roommate and he’s prepared for virtually any eventuality that might come of he and Chris’ antics. Admittedly, though, he doesn’t really expect this. It’s kind of like when the early warning systems for tsunamis fail and there are those PSAs on TV with all the kids crying. But he can see Phichit turning as he’s walking out the door, and it’s with purpose, which can only mean he’s either put it on Instagram or is about to go Tumblr social justice warrior on someone. Based on the circumstance, he assumes it’s the latter.

“But _Yuuuuri_..!”

There’s glass shattering in Switzerland. He hopes, with a discreet kind of vengeance, that it hits Chris’ house first, because he doesn’t want to blame Viktor for this and the English major is doing the least amount that anyone could do to help him now that he’s got a tall Russian wrapped around his leg. You know, like a child. He bites back a harsh reality check, shrugs Viktor off and this time, he actually does sleep.

-

It’s three fifteen by the time Yuuri drags himself out of bed, and it’s to the comforting symphony of Yuri and Victor arguing literally five centimetres away from his face.

“It’s not going in my dorm, Nikiforov.”

“But Chris and Phichit need the closet space, and you’re in there on your own!”

“I swear to God - if it’s in there by the time I get back from Feltsman’s lecture hall, I _will_ bite your fucking ear off.”

“Guys,” Yuuri interrupts. Other-Yuri - nicknamed ‘Yurio’ after an incident in the cafeteria involving alphabet soup - glances away, rustled now that he’s been caught. Yuuri gets the feeling that he’s earned some weird kind of respect from him (probably attributed to the fact that he’s the only person other than the small blonde who is a respectable level of sober when he shows up to class), but right now, the room is spinning, and Viktor’s voice is still ringing in his ears, so what he does is fumble for the coffee machine at his bedside to heat up the water and groans. “I love you, but can you please shut the fuck up.”

It takes four cups exactly to coax Yuuri out of his cocoon, and a further two to convince him that the vending machine he can see through the open door just peering round the corner of Phichit’s room’s one is, indefinitely, real. Yurio has bowed out when he comes to properly. That makes him the most intelligent one of them all.

“How did you even get it up here?” He slurs, blinking away sleep with varying levels of success. He isn’t even aware he’s asking to entertain Viktor until he realises he’s looking out for him; he’s wrapped backwards around the IKEA chair by his desk, watching Yuuri wake up with that soppy smile, and gestures to the caffeine in his boyfriend’s sweater paws with a distant glint to his eyes.

“Coffee. And that gym student down the hall.” There it is. There’s no way an art and an English student can carry an entire fucking cauldron of soda up three flights of stairs (because there’s no way they got that in the elevator) between the two of them. “What was his name - Otabek? Yurio’s boyfriend.”

“Fuck you!” It’s shouted in Russian, and from behind a closed door, but Yuuri has been to enough frat parties with Viktor that he gets the gist of it. Also, he’s got an ounce common fucking sense, which apparently is not so common in the lovely world of university.

“But seriously - what the hell?”

“They were gonna tear it down, so we took it before they could. You will have missed the news, but the Principal thinks its the kids from the public school down the road. They’re issuing a search party.” Viktor glances away, bashful. It's probably one of Yuuri's absolute favourite things in the world. “That’s where I first met you, Yuuri, okay? I wasn’t just gonna let it slide.”

And it’s true. They had been careening towards separate classes, Viktor with half-finished notes and a way-too-hot-to run with flask of English breakfast, and Yuuri with a headache and an armful of Phichit’s hamsters (don’t ask) in the hopes of arriving on time. They made it out of the collision with no more wounds than a few traumatised rodents, but their hands were touching like in the movies, and the rest was history. Looking at it now, he’s pretty sure he can see the stain where the tea met its unfortunate demise.

“Oh, _God_ ,” And then Yuuri’s complaining to cover up the fact that he’s blushing. Even he knows he’s being completely transparent. “I’m in love with an idiot.”

“I’m an art student - I don’t need intelligence. Or sleep.”

“Yes, but you do need a basic knowledge of the law. You know that’s, like, actual burglary, right? And it’s even worse because it’s on the school grounds-”

“Then I suppose,” Viktor smirks, and brushes the hair out of Yuuri’s eyes and he leans down. “-you’re going to have to go on the run with me.”

“Yeah, you’re really scary.” He teases. Everything after that just kind of blurs out - Viktor might have laughed at his joke, but right now he’s focusing on remembering the Periodic Table and the Colour Wheel and anything else he can use to distract himself. He tastes of coffee - they’re college kids, so everyone does - and spearmint, and Yuuri has to keep repeating his own name in his mind so that he doesn’t forget it in the time it takes for the kiss to transpire.

“Viktor,” There’s a distant snapping of a camera from Phichit’s direction. Yuuri will later check Instagram to find an image of the vending machine captioned with 'Did you just assume her gender?' and one of them kissing segregated from the rest by the hashtags 'It'sMatingSeason' and 'WhatIsLoveInFourWords'. “Pay me with coffee and kisses and you can keep it behind my bed.”

And that’s how Yuuri Katsuki, twenty-one years old and halfway through making his degree, spends his Sunday afternoon, and looking at it now, he wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
